The Wilting Rose Within a Parallel World
by HornyNarwhal
Summary: It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life. Then a sadistic demon ruined it all with one well-placed blow. He was saved by blue eyes.
1. Blue Eyes

Carmine, claret, copper, crimson, maroon, ruby, scarlet. It was everywhere. Staining the walls, the floor, dripping from paintings and spattering heavily on the ceiling. Blood covered everything, leaving the house with a horror movie-esque feel. The bodies of the dead lay spread across the floor, each one missing a limb, or sometimes a head. Some even looked to have the occasional disembowelment. Only one was still alive, but barely. A slender, sandy-blonde haired man with prominent brows sat slumped in a chair, hands and legs tied to the sturdy wood. Lacerations covered his body and a large chunk had been taken out of his shoulder, teeth marks surrounding the flayed skin.

Dark blood, so dark in fact, it could be black, was smeared all over his face and the ruined, slashed shirt. But no, not all of it belonged to Arthur Kirkland. That black blood that intermingled with his red belonged to the demon who hung over him, derisively laughing in his face. Ivan forced the man's head back and he pressed his bleeding wrist to the human's mouth, making him drink the dark hued liquid that pulsed from the deep cut in the skin.

"Happy birthday, little mortal~! I hope my gift is sufficient enough for you, da?" he giggled, the noise cutting through the near silence like a knife. Ivan knew that sooner or later the man would die a painful death because of the poison that his blood contained. He didn't care. He just liked to kill and annihilate, nothing more, nothing less.

Hell had secrets, more than there were stars in the sky. Information was hidden carefully, and none knew the full power of the Underworld. The current ruler of Hell was the one who knew the Underworld's secrets, and he liked to keep it that way. Or she. No one really knew the true identity of the one in control. He or she was always working from behind closed doors, and not a soul had ever seen their face.

Looking over at the spasming body of the blonde with eerie purple eyes, Ivan snorted in annoyance. It would not last long with the amount of blood consumed. Soon, if not treated correctly, one by one the organs would be eaten away at and the human would die an excruciating and long death. But even Ivan didn't know what would help this ticking time bomb of a man. Only Lucifer himself could save this mortal.

Ivan smiled, the glint of teeth sharp and sinister in the dim light. He would have loved to watch every single second of the painful death, but he had more crowds to massacre, more lives to destroy. Whistling happily, a cheery bounce in his step, Ivan walked out of the door and disappeared into the night. The demon's large frame melded with the darkness, and he was gone.

* * *

It had been his birthday, Arthur remembered through the haze. All of his family had flown in to England to celebrate it, and for once they weren't getting into petty fights and were having a good time catching up with each other. Even his little brother Peter wasn't being an obnoxious brat. But then it had taken a turn for the worst. Something had crashed through the roof of the house and began to kill, claws slicing and slashing so quickly you wouldn't have known they were there, save for the arcs of blood that spattered the walls as they sang through the air. Through all of it, the massacre of his beloved family and friends, the agonizing pain of being beat bloody with his body being nearly ripped apart with supernatural strength, and the searing burn of the unfamiliar blood that was making its way through his body, Arthur Kirkland had kept quiet, as hard as it had been. As he sat in the empty house tied to the chair, he finally let loose his cries of anguish, pain, and grief. The screams bounced off the walls, echoing in the small space and piercing the night sky. They only petered off when he felt a black cloud sweep over his mind and he quieted, unconscious.

An inky black head poked above the bushes, appearance disheveled from sleeping in the low expanse of shrubbery. Leaves stuck in his short, obsidian hair, sky blue eyes filled with weariness. Alfred had heard a faint cry of distress, and he could feel a disturbance in the air so he figured he might as well see what it was. Slowly he got to his feet, uncurling his limbs and returning the feeling to them. He shook out his black leather bomber jacket he was so fond of and settled it around his broad, muscled shoulders. His lips pursed before he whistled a sad tune, shoes scuffing on the hard, dirt packed road.

Soon he arrived at the darkened house where he heard the cries, and he smelled the telltale scent of blood in the air. And damn, was it heavy. Underneath the rust and death scent he smelled an undertone of another demon's presence. '_Ivan…_,_'_ he thought, lip curling at the name. He had never liked the destructive and bloodthirsty demon, and the other had never liked him. It was something beyond mutual hatred, and they were at each other's throats constantly.

Cautiously, Alfred stepped into the house and searched each room, expression blank as he set his eyes on the mutilated bodies. At last, he heard the panting moans of pain and slowly pushed the door open, hinges creaking. A fleeting look of surprise was visible in his bright eyes at what lay in front of him, and he stepped further into the room.

A broken looking blonde sat tied to a chair in the center of the room, covered with blood, and not all his own, Alfred could tell. He shuffled closer and examined the body, wondering if he had yet died. He sighed when he saw black blood pooling in his open mouth. '_The bastard made him drink his blood. How many times will he do this? I hate cleaning up his messes…'_ he thought, blunt nails turning to sharp claws that flicked out of his nail beds to slash away the bloodied ropes.

* * *

Arthur stirred as he felt cool, gentle hands on him, his moans of pain turning to screams as he became fully conscious and felt the burning sensation raging throughout him again. '_Painpainpainpainpain everywhere!_' was all he could think. He felt the weight around his wrists and ankles drop, and in a small part of his mind that wasn't red hot he sighed in relief. The almost luminous green eyes snapped open as he began throwing up blood, barely able to get a breath in between heaves. After a reprieve of choking Arthur weakly wiped his mouth and glared up at the demon.

"…The hell do you want? Are you here to finish what the other didn't?" Arthur said, automatically drawing in on himself, arms wrapping about his body in a semblance of protection. His eyes took in the tail lashing the air behind the man, and the black, dark as night wings that protruded from the back of his jacket. His eyes lingered on the curved horns situated on either side of his head. It was clear the man was similar to the other that had just destroyed everything he had ever loved and longed for. He bristled almost immediately, wary.

Despite the fact he was dying, the venom in his voice was tangible, as well as the bright fire in his eyes. Arthur knew he would be killed if this man so chose, but he wanted to die with honor, not cowardice. He wasn't the type of man to get on his knees and beg for his life. He was better than that. He felt sudden pain in the cavity of his chest, and blood started to bubble up his throat. He started to cough, violently, and fell to his hands and knees on the floor. What was happening? It hurt so much…

Alfred watched the scene with blank blue eyes and sighed, kneeling on the dirty, bloody floor. His gloved hand firmly, but also gently took Arthur's chin in his hand and turned it so their eyes met. Green to blue, emerald to azure. Arthur's breath was stolen away from him at the connection, lips parting in amazement. His eyes were otherworldly. Like chips of a cloudless blue sky, they twinkled and bored into him with startling intensity. Alfred did not acknowledge the moment and lifted a fingertip to rest right over the heart, drawing a symbol on the skin of the bared chest. The complex loops and swirls lit like a flame, dancing across the veins like fireworks. They sunk into the skin slowly, and when the last glimpse of fire disappeared, so did the pain.

Arthur drew in a ragged breath, eyes wide. "W-who are you?" he asked.

Alfred finally gave him a smile, a hint of fang flashing. "My name is Alfred Jones," he said. "And you're going to Hell."


	2. In the Arms of Lucifer

Arthur didn't know exactly what happened afterward. All he saw was startling blue, and then blackness swept over him. He was stranded there, in the confines of his mind. He didn't know what would happen, what was happening. All he knew was that he was in a shit load of trouble.

He was content to float in the endless, shifting memories and colors of his mind for a while. But then he was plagued with the visions, the nightmares. All he could remember was the way claws sliced through his skin like butter, the brute force of a fist breaking his bones. He whimpered softly as he remembered that horrible, downright _evil_ laugh taunting him. He hated it, the feeling of utter helplessness, of not being able to do anything to defend himself.

Arthur Kirkland would never be the man he used to be.

* * *

Alfred had caught the man when he limply fell towards the ground like a lifeless rag doll. He looked as if he had been dragged to Hell and back. Alfred chuckled at the irony. He wouldn't let this pretty dove leave him. Through the blood, cuts, and bruises, Alfred had seen something he liked, something he wanted to keep. And no one denied Alfred Jones anything. He was a possessive bastard, and he knew it. When he wanted for something he went out and took it, no matter the price.

He cradled that delicate feeling body in his arms, whispering words in an ancient language under his breath. A dark, circular portal opened up, and a glimpse of that dank and familiar Hell could be seen. He stepped through, leaving the gruesome house full of the dead behind.

He immediately started the process of tending to the still unconscious blonde man. He was really torn up, and it got even worse as the demon stripped the remnants of clothing away. Gashes leaking blood were all over the place, bones out of their proper places were twisted and mangled, and bruises stained the battered body like a fungus. It would be a difficult task, and arduous one, but Alfred could do it. The demon cast another spell, one that would make the blond sleep for a very long time. Alfred couldn't have him waking up screaming and ruining all his hard work, right?

He started with the bones, since they were most painful. Tan, calloused fingers slowly ran down each misaligned bone, and set them with little effort. Once that was done, he began the process of healing. Healing another was no easy task, especially with this extent of injury. To get it right, one had to pour their very essence into the body, and concentration was key.

Alfred did just that, slowly but sure working from top to bottom. His brow was furrowed with focus, and he let loose an audible sigh of relief. "Almost there, my angel. You're really putting me to work on the first day." He smiled to himself and kept going.

* * *

Hours later, but thoroughly satisfied with his work, Alfred stood back and admired the newly fixed body. It was perfect now, all creamy skin and bright, shiny hair. He was now nestled in a large basket of sorts, furs piled on top of his body to ease the shivering. He had a fire roaring in the fireplace, adding even more warmth. All he had to do now was wait for his little doll to awaken.

* * *

As he was coming to, Arthur felt warm and content. That was odd, since the last time he felt something it was pain and fear. Slowly, emerald eyes cracked open. Right now, all he saw was stone. There were stalagmites on the ceiling, and he thought that odd. Where was he? He looked down to see furs piled on top of him, and himself laying in some sort of… basket bed. Arthur shoved off the blankets and sat up, gasping as his unblemished skin caught the light. He was healed? How was this possible?

An amused chuckle broke his train of thought, and Arthur whipped around to stare with wide eyes at the sudden noise, his aching body protesting vehemently. Who was that? Oh yes, the one who had appeared back at the house.

"Where am I? And how did this," he gestured to his body, "Happen?" At that moment he realized he was laying there nude, exposed to the other, and yanked the furs back up, face flushed a violent red.

Alfred had allowed his eyes to peruse the man's body as he worked, and it was clear he liked what he saw. "Oh, relax. Nothing I haven't seen before." He shot the man a winning grin and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "But I would _love _to see more of it," he said with a cheeky wink.

Arthur gaped at the man, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "What the hell is wrong with you!? I was just beaten, nearly killed, and you have the _gall _to try and flirt with me?" he nearly shouted, cheeks red with anger this time. Yes, he realized this man could beat him bloody again, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

Alfred didn't react, and just arched a dark brow. Within milliseconds he was straddling the man's hips, hands resting on either side of his head. His wings rose and curled inward, wrapping the two in a dark cocoon. "Do you realize what I am, little mortal? I could kill you with a twitch of my finger. It's not wise to anger those stronger than you." He bared his fangs in a warning, sharp, spaded tail gently, but also threateningly, caressing the porcelain cheek.

"Now, let's hear a name. I'm Alfred F. Jones, demon of Hell. Nice to meet you." He easily climbed off the other and nestled himself beside the slender body. He held a tanned hand out, a sunny smile on his face.

Arthur couldn't fight the shivers that were wracking his body. Feeling the darkness surrounding him, seeing the fangs, made him remember what had happened earlier. And he didn't like it one bit. Reluctantly he shook the proffered hand. "Arthur Kirkland, author and teacher. Well, I _was_, until I was beaten to a pulp and taken to God knows where." His lips twisted in a frown and he couldn't help but look around. "Where am I, anyway?"

"Hell," Alfred answered. "I did tell you where we'd be going, right before you passed out on me. You'll be here for quite a while, since one, you have to regain your health, and two, I'm not going to allow you to leave."

The green-eyed blonde begrudgingly nodded. "I do vaguely remember something. How long is a while? I have… matters to attend to at home, and work. I'm not one-!" The sentence was cut off by a strangled gasp of shock.

"Excuse me!? You can't keep me here like some sort of pet!" He shrieked in displeasure and shock. "I'm not some sort of pet you can lock up! I have a life!"

Alfred just smirked and wrapped his arms about the smaller male. "Oh, I beg to differ. You're belong to me now, my little angel. And I'll keep you here until I feel up to letting you go." The demon shook his head and corrected him. "The proper term is 'had'. You _had _a life. But now your only life is with me, wrapped in the arms of Lucifer." Alfred chuckled darkly and cupped Arthur's cheeks, looking into the fear stricken eyes. He whispered the next words, nearly singing them.

"_Forever mine you will be, forever mine you will stay._"


End file.
